


forever and always

by approxim8ly



Series: we all fall down [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS THING IS 7500 WORDS??!??!?!!?, Lots of bad things, M/M, i still cant, idk if thats a thing but ill tag it, its 1 am and i am feeling the angst, tw: accidental suicide via overdose, tw: brainwashing, wowowowowowow i did not expect to make another one of these
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 05:01:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7999522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/approxim8ly/pseuds/approxim8ly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree doesn't like it when people call him "Jesse" anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forever and always

**Author's Note:**

> WOW!!! i'm back y'all!! and this time, with more heartwrenching McHanzo as i feel my soul being tugged further towards the fiery pit that is hell. anyway, this is a continuation of be good for me, yankee-san, so if you haven't read that, this won't make a whole lot of sense. anywya, enjoy this 7500 word monstrosity that i wrote in the span of three days. <3

McCree doesn't like it when people call him Jesse anymore.

It feels too personal, too foreign in his ears. When people call him Jesse, it reminds him of his mistakes.

He tried his best. He really did. He tried to keep his promise. In the beginning, he spared, he gave out second chances, he forgave.

But at some point, McCree looked back at his life and despised himself for it.

He'd handed out second chances as if they were candy, and yet, nine times out of ten, it came back to bite him in the ass. He’d forgive and forgive but the person he’d forgiven either didn’t forgive themselves or tried to take revenge on him as if it was his fault they’d done wrong.

He stops trying to be forgiving. He can feel himself drifting back into his Blackwatch days. No mercy. No survivors. Do what is necessary, not morally correct. Mission first.

Sometimes he talks to Jack, late at night. _Is this what being a hero is?_ McCree asks. _Is this the kind of shit you put up with all those years?_

Jack usually doesn't reply, instead pouring out another whiskey for the both of them. McCree knows what that means, anyway.

But sometimes, if it's late enough or Jack's in a good mood or whatever, he will answer. He'll tell McCree what it was like in the old days, what kind of shit he put up with. McCree knows a lot of the stories; he was there for them. But some of them, he's never heard. Blackwatch never really was the knight in shining armor.

And McCree goes to bed, drunkenly wishing to the stars outside that he still had the feisty dragon-wielder next to him.

 

It’s the same old shit every day. Winston calls them for a mission, McCree hustles his ass down to the hanger, trying to keep that easy cowboy smile on his face. He can see the restraint in everyone’s features; Angela keeping her distance, a sad smile on her face. Flinching ever so slightly when she performs her medical duty. Tracer holds herself back; instead of racing about and cracking crude jokes with Lúcio, she actually listens to Winston and preps for the mission.

Everyone else is in the same vein, and McCree hates it. 

Genji’s probably the worst. The man hardly speaks anymore. Closed in on himself like it was his fault Han- his brother died. Although, sometimes, Genji comes out of his shell. Just for a little while, and mostly around McCree. McCree’d like to think it’s because he’s the only other one who knows what the archer meant to them.

McCree’s never been the deep-thinking type, but nowadays he finds himself musing about things from time to time. Mostly about _him_. Pretty much entirely about him.

He thinks about what could have gone differently that day. Maybe if he had just noticed a little sooner, or used Dead Eye a little quicker. Maybe if anyone else had jumped in front of him, he wouldn’t feel so empty. He knows it’s an ugly thought, but he can’t help thinking it.

He’d never wish death on someone, but selfishly, he wishes that it was someone else. Maybe someone who could’ve taken a bullet like that. Someone that he could’ve attended the funeral to and he wouldn’t feel so damn awful.

He doesn’t like those thoughts, but it’s the truth. And one rarely likes the truth.

 

When the mission starts that day, McCree’s mind is elsewhere. As he kills Talon agents, he snorts in disdain and thinks of how he can’t stop until he reaches her. The one who killed him. Amélie. Widowmaker.

McCree growls when he thinks her name, and slams the butt of his gun down on another head with more venom than the rest. _Widowmaker_. Well, she certainly lived up to the name. He doesn’t even care when he feels another bit of his soul break off as he performs Dead Shot for five unlucky agents.

“You’d think you’d want to keep your soul, _ne serait pas vous_?”

McCree stops in his tracks.

He can’t think of what he wants to do. He’d imagined what he’d do to her, to make her pay, but right now, he can’t think of a single damn thing to say to her. He can’t. All he wants to do is take her neck and _snap-_

Amélie chuckles a bit, and McCree grits his teeth. She always did have such a snide laugh.

“ _Mon Dieu_ , you’re slow. I’d think you’d hustle a little more towards our final fight. I’m a little insulted, _Yankee-san_.”

It sounds so _ugly_ when she says it. _How dare she_ , McCree thinks, before blood rushes past his ears and all he can see is red.

“I’M FROM. THE FUCKING. _SOUTH!_ ” McCree roars, and he turns on his heel, fully intent on shooting Widowmaker between her fucking eyes.

But he can’t pull the trigger.

It isn’t Amélie in front of him. It’s a short, black-clad man with a mask over his face and long black hair. 

McCree gapes for a second, unable to move. If he hadn’t seen him die, he’d almost think it was H-

“Go ahead, _dragon bleu_. We haven’t much time.” McCree snaps his gaze on Widowmaker, standing to his left, and he redirects his gun furiously to shoot her. But he never got the chance.

The smaller figure bodyslams him, and McCree almost loses his grip on his gun as he scrambles out of range of the man’s attacks. He only gets a split second before the man leaps at him, and McCree reaches out to intercept, hand passing through the other’s moves, snatching the mask off his face and throwing it away.

It’s scarred and shaven, but it’s Hanzo.

McCree almost lets this fact cause his death, before he manages to gather enough of his mind to roll to the side as a knife descends towards his head.

“Shimada! Stop tryin’ t’ kill me!” McCree shouts, but it does nothing to slow Hanzo down. He dodges attacks as fast as he can, throwing himself to the left and the right and duck at the right time. Hanzo doesn’t stop or even slow down; he throws out kicks and punches and slices with lightning speed. McCree tries saying his name again, but to no avail.

“馬鹿.” Hanzo speaks, the first he’s said during their interaction. “あなたは私をそらすことができると思いますか？”

McCree’s eyes widen just a bit, before he dodges another attack and tries again. “I know that word! You just called me a fool! Just like you used to, remember? It was the first English word you said to me! Right before Yankee-san! Annoyed the hell out of me and made me want to punch a wall every time you said it!”

Hanzo falters so minutely that no one who hadn’t been as close as McCree would have noticed it. But it doesn’t make him stop lashing out.

McCree can’t say much for a while, mostly preoccupied with trying to stay alive. If anything, Hanzo’s attacks come swifter and more ferociously, as if McCree was the most important thing to get rid of at the moment.

He knows he’s going to have to actually defend himself soon. But McCree can't bring himself to do anything that's more than melee. He’s about to try talking again, but Hanzo beats him to the punch.

“反撃. なぜあなたは反撃しないのだろうか？” The second statement is said almost as a whisper, but McCree catches it. He only recognizes a few words, but he can get the gist of it.

“I can’t fight you, Hanzo. Don’t you remember why?”

Hanzo seems like he’s listening, but it’s hard to tell when he’s trying to kill you. McCree rolls out of the line of fire and stands up.

“Ya’ tried to kill me, the first time we met. Remember? I was just sittin’ out on the balcony havin’ a smoke and ya’ appeared outta goddamn nowhere and shot me in the shoulder. Only reason it was my shoulder’s cause I turned at the right moment.” He pulls his serape out of the way as best he can, to show the scar where the archer’s arrow had hit.

Hanzo twitches.

“And then, fer three goddamn months, you were a thorn in m’side. Never referred t’ me by my name. Always ‘fool’ or ‘Yankee-san.’ I thought ya hated me. But one night, ya were drunk off yer ass and I had to force ya into yer room and ya kept resisting, insisting that you needed to practice. And then-”

“キス.” Hanzo says quietly, and McCree throws a shit-eating grin at him. 

“I’d thought you’d forgotten that, you were so drunk.”

Hanzo’s blows are coming slower now, and McCree takes the opportunity to deliver his final words.

“Do you remember? All the nights that we spent in the training alleys, the first time you saw me perform Dead Shot, that one night that you made me do thirteen loads of laundry because everything smelled awful and you wouldn’t stop wrinkling your nose every time you walked in my room until it was spotless? Do you remember talking on the hill top, about futures and other kinds of deep shit?”

The archer stops his slash before it hits McCree’s arm. The next words that come out of his mouth are soft.

“Do you remember me, Hanzo?”

Hanzo looks lost now. He’s stopped attacking. McCree takes a cautious step forward, but then suddenly a thought flashes through his mind.

_Where did Amélie go?_

Something sharp hits his back. _Ah_ , McCree thinks as he falls. He can’t tell whether or not he hits the ground before the world goes dark.

 

When McCree awakens, it's to Lúcio’s worried face as he peers down at him. McCree shifts a little and grunts, and the boy heaves a sigh of relief, helping him sit up.

“Where’s… Where’s Hanzo…?” McCree says, and Lúcio looks at someone else, apprehension in his expression. The mental conversation only lasts for a few seconds, and Lúcio takes a deep breath and looks McCree straight in the eyes.

“We… Had to sedate him. After Widowmaker shot you, he kinda went… Crazy? Couldn’t get near you to help. Ana managed to snipe him from behind with a sleeping drug when it was clear we weren’t gonna get anywhere with talkin’. Didn't seem to recognize any of us, but seemed pretty adamant about protecting you. Even if we were tryin’ to help. Anyway,” Lucio gestures over to Angela, who’s packing up her medical supplies. “You should ask her where she put ‘em. He’s prolly in a holding cell, though.”

 

Angela gives him an affirmative nod and a number, and McCree kicks up dust with how fast he runs toward his destination. 

He guesses he isn’t really surprised to find Genji there in front of Hanzo’s cell, but McCree approaches cautiously. He isn’t sure what to expect from Genji after he’s suddenly got his brother back, so McCree just sidles up next to him to look into the glass box.

Hanzo isn’t really doing anything; just sitting on his bed and muttering to himself in Japanese words that McCree doesn’t understand. But he still listens. Because he’s been missing that voice for too damn long and he doesn’t care what it says.

 

McCree hates seeing Hanzo through a thick pane of glass like this. Especially when he looks so calm. You’d never guess that the man could snap in an instant like a twig.

He presses his forehead to the glass, but Hanzo doesn’t stir from where he’s sitting; instead, he remains cross-legged with his hands clenched in his lap. Every few moments, he’ll exhale, relaxing his hands, and then breathes in and repeats the process.

Hanzo’s been kept in this holding cell for a few days now; Angela hasn’t declared him stable enough to let him out on his own yet. McCree can understand why she’s being so careful, but it’s killing him to see the man like this.

McCree’s talks through the glass sometimes, but if Hanzo hears him, it doesn’t show. But he talks anyway, telling him about how his day went, how everyone is, what the weather’s like outside. Sometimes, he’ll talk about how much he missed him.

After about a week, Angela approaches Hanzo.

McCree isn’t there for the incident, but as soon as he hears about it, he races down to the cells.

Angela’s bleeding from her arms, long red gashes against her pale skin. Hanzo is huddled in a corner of the cell, hands over his ears and whispering to himself in Japanese.

According to Winston, Angela had tried to perform a regular medical check-up on the man, but he had snapped once he saw her try to draw blood with a needle.

The cowboy almost rolls his eyes when he hears this; out of all people, he would have never expected Angela to do something so stupid to a trauma victim. She should have known that Hanzo would react badly. But he doesn’t voice these thoughts, because Mercy looks like she’s suffered enough and he doesn’t need to needle her with knowledge she’s probably already beating herself up over.

Instead, later, McCree comes back with a picture album.

Hanzo doesn’t move when McCree enters the cell, closing the glass behind him. McCree approaches cautiously, keeping his hands so that Hanzo can see them.

“Can I sit down?”

The question seems to startle the smaller man, but he gives a quick nod and watches McCree closely as he settles himself on the bed. He eyes the thick book in the other’s hands, silently questioning his intent.

“This here’s a picture album. I thought it might be helpful t’ jog yer memory.” McCree says, smiling a bit.

Hanzo nods uncertainly, and flinches when McCree opens the cover, as if he expected the book to explode in his hands. When it doesn’t, Hanzo carefully makes his way over to McCree to see the inside better.

The first picture is an old one, back in the ‘glory days’, as McCree remembers. 

“You don’t know these people like this. They’re all different now. Looks, names, everything.” McCree says, but Hanzo taps a figure in the picture.

“それはあなたです,” he says, tracing the shape of McCree’s head.

McCree smiles again, smaller and sadder this time. “Yeah, that was when I was young and good lookin’. I’m more rugged now.” Hanzo gives him a funny look as he speaks, but doesn’t comment.

Flipping forward a few pages, they come across the current team picture.

“Well now, that's us! Those are all yer teammates, yer friends. That’s Hana, she’s short but full o’ fire and memes! Lena, she can zip around and turn back time! She makes the best puns here, besides yours truly. N’ Fareeha, she's kinda scary but she's jus’ doin’ her job. This here’s Jack, he used to be our leader! But he's old and salty now, n’ kinda the ultimate dad. Ang-”

McCree pauses before pointing out Angela, he isn't sure how Hanzo will react to the woman. Surprisingly, Hanzo isn't looking at her; instead, he's looking at his brother, and McCree hesitated before tapping his picture.

“That’s… That’s Genji. Yer brother.”

He can tell he’s made a mistake. He can see as Hanzo withdraws into himself, muttering to himself as he brings his hands to his ears again.

“私はありませんでしたしたい, 私はありませんでしたしたい, 私はありませんでしたしたい, 私はありませんでしたしたい, 私はありませんでしたしたい-”

“Hanzo.”

The man looks up when he hears his name, but he keeps muttering the same thing over and over and over.

“Hanzo, look at me. Breathe.”

McCree takes Hanzo’s hands away from his ears, holding them close to his chest. The smaller looks at him with confusion, but only for a split second as he descends back into panic.

“Breathe. Darlin’, please breathe. It's alright. Genji’s okay now, he doesn't blame you or hate you or nothin’. He's okay. You're okay. Calm down. Breathe deep. There we go. Breathe.”

McCree keeps talking as Hanzo gradually begins to breathe deeply, following McCree’s example. They breathe in sync for a while, and McCree lets go of Hanzo’s hands.

“A’ight, well, I think that's enough of the album for today. I'll come back tomorrow, yeah?” McCree closes the book, and gets up slowly as some of his joints pop. He makes his way towards the door, before Hanzo’s voice makes him stop.

“あなたは, kind fool. Yankee-San.” Hanzo speaks as if the words are foreign on his tongue, but McCree beams at him and nods.

“Forever and always, darlin’.”

 

Genji is outside his room in the morning. McCree doesn't really know what to expect. The cyborg doesn't really say much, more like studying him for a minute. He doesn’t speak until McCree shifts uncomfortably, trying to convey that he’s trying to get to the kitchen but he doesn’t want to be rude. The younger Shimada considers him for a minute, then says one cryptic sentence.

“It would seem that there is more to you than I thought, McCree.”

Before he can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Genji is gone and McCree is left standing alone and confused in the dark hallway.

 

For the next week or so, McCree falls into a schedule. In the morning, he’ll take some actual breakfast food down to Hanzo’s cell instead of subjecting him to the horror that is, what Angela calls, “power food”. Usually it's Japanese (he suspects that Genji helps every now and then, making sure that there's enough ingredients in the fridge and even some pre made treats), but sometimes he’ll bring down a full Western style and they'll eat it together.

Progress is slow with the pictures, but McCree didn't really expect it to go any faster. He avoids old pictures of Gabe and Amélie, but Hanzo’s getting better with handling Angela and Genji. When Angela tries to check on Hanzo, he doesn't attack her anymore when she takes out a needle, as long as she says what she's doing first. It almost seems like he’s finally leveling out.

 

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. 

Angela had declared Hanzo at least mentally sound enough to question, and McCree had initially agreed with her. The man had always been awful tough anyway, and it had been three months since his rescue.

Winston goes in to talk to him, and McCree waves from behind the glass, giving a reassuring smile. Hanzo looks at him nervously, but the cowboy can see as he sizes the gorilla up and decides that Winston is alright.

None of them had meant any harm, only to get some information for what Talon had been planning for a while. But as soon as the word ‘Talon’ leaves Winston’s mouth, Hanzo breaks. And McCree can see it.

Hanzo attacks Winston, and if it had been anyone else, he probably would have killed them. McCree’s at the door in an instant, ignoring Angela’s cries of warning as he rushes inside. He pulls the two away from each other, and McCree’s eyes widen as he sees that Hanzo’s are red and wild. He doesn’t quite know how to process this information, and the only thing that is clear in his head is that this runs far deeper than they originally thought.

The archer snarls at him, and McCree thanks the Lord that his arms are longer than the other’s. He manages to keep Hanzo away from them as Winston recovers, but McCree can’t stop the words coming out of Hanzo’s mouth.

_“Ryuu ga wa-”_

Suddenly Ana is there and Hanzo is limp, sleeping dart in his side.

“T-Thanks, ma’am.” McCree says shakily, and Ana nods with an odd sort of sadness in her eyes. 

“You’d best lay him down. That was a heavy dose; he may or may not remember what he’s done tomorrow. But be ready if he does.” She turns from him, and McCree thinks he heard a bit of sorrow in her voice.

He lies awake that night, the scene replaying in his head over and over and over. He remembers how he couldn’t see Hanzo at all in those red eyes, and how the man hadn’t held back at all when attacking Winston. He thinks about how he could’ve died, had Ana not gotten there in time.

McCree finally admits defeat in the battle against his mind and gets out of bed around three in the morning, grabbing his gun and walking to the training alleys. At least shooting always kept him focused, attention on the targets in front of him.

He fires round after round, but the red eyes haunt him, making it hard to concentrate on what was in front of him. He gives up around four, but his brain still isn’t ready to let him rest.

So he goes down to the only other place he knows.

Hanzo’s still knocked out, and McCree snorts at himself for thinking otherwise. The Shimada is laying on his side, breathing slowly.

“Can’t sleep?”

McCree starts as Genji appears next to him, and he shakes his head. It’s a little odd, standing there with a man whose face he’d never seen, but still somehow had a strong bond with. They don’t really need to speak; They’re both thinking the same thing.

“I’m gonna kill them for this.”

He speaks quietly, voice full of darkness. Genji just nods beside him, then offers his hand.

“Then please consider me as a partner, brother-in-law.”

McCree looks at him, a bit shocked to be referred to as such, but takes Genji’s hand and shakes it firmly.

“Absolutely.”

 

Hanzo doesn’t seem to remember what happened the day before, but he stops McCree in the middle of their English/Memory Gain lesson. 

“Yankee-san. Please… I am sorry. Winston. He… Please. Tell him.” Hanzo looks like he’s about to cry, trying to express himself and use English at the same time.

“Why don’t you apologize to him yerself?” McCree asks, raising his eyebrows slightly.

Hanzo swallows thickly, and McCree can feel his heart break as a man who used to be so confident and comfortable with his power shrink back from himself, scared to death of what he’d almost done.

“It… It is not safe.”

McCree nods, and Hanzo grips his hand thankfully.

 

Winston’s lab doors slide open as McCree approaches, slightly surprising him. He's never really been down here, never had a reason to.

Winston doesn’t look up from his workbench, he already knows who it is. Athena notified him. He doesn’t stir when McCree walks up behind him, looking around his lab.

“So…” McCree starts inelegantly, and Winston snorts softly. McCree rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, then continues.

“Hanzo wanted me t’ pass a message. He’s sorry. He doesn’t know why he did what he did and didn’t seem t’ have any control over it. He wouldn’t’ve done anythin’ like that intentionally.” Winston sighs and lays down what he had been working on, then spins to face McCree.

“I know. That wasn’t the Shimada we know. That was obviously something far deeper than we thought. Talon seems to be some sort of trigger word. But if we can’t say ‘Talon’ around him, we have no way of getting crucial information that we could use. We can’t figure out how to reverse what they did.” Winston sighs again and rubs the bridge of his nose, obviously a bit frustrated. “They sure did a good job of covering themselves up. Can’t get any info that might help us without risking setting off the ticking time-bomb.”

“Hey.” McCree interjects, a little ticked at hearing Winston refer to the archer that way. “This isn’t Hanzo’s fault. He’s a person and deserves to be treated like one.”

Winston inclines his head. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I’m just unsure of how we will get Shimada back to mental stability.”

McCree nods, losing himself in his thoughts. Winston turns back to his workbench, and he supposes that means the gorilla’s done with this conversation. He exits the room, relying on autopilot to take him back to his own room. He collapses on his bed, hit with the sudden realization that he’s only gotten about two hours of sleep and probably needs more than that.

Back down in the lab, Winston swings on his tire, thinking a mile a minute. _I hope you can find a way to bring him back, Jesse._ He thinks. _Before he becomes too much of a danger for us._

 

Hanzo’s progress is sketchy; sometimes he remembers things that he’d been taught two weeks ago, sometimes he doesn’t remember what they’d been talking about yesterday. McCree keeps pushing though, trying to make some sort of break-through so he can prove to everyone that Hanzo isn’t a threat. That he’s just a human.

Sometimes McCree comes down to the cells before the sun rises in the morning. Sometimes Genji is there. Usually not.

One night, McCree decides that he isn’t going to make it back to his bed before he passes out. So he sits down next to the cell, head resting against the cold glass that separates them. He pulls his hat down over his eyes, and in a few moments he’s out like a light.

He’s awoken by something. He doesn’t recognize what it is at first. Thuds against the glass, shaking his head slightly. McCree drowsily stands up, peering into the room.

Hanzo’s eyes are wild and afraid, and he scrambles back from McCree as if he’s some sort of threat. The cowboy looks at him, confused, and waves slightly.

“W-Who are you?! Where am I?! Answer me!” Hanzo yelps, and that’s when McCree snaps awake. He comes a little closer to the glass and taps on it, and Hanzo retreats farther into the room, shaking like a leaf.

“Hanzo. It’s me, McCree. Don’tcha recognize me?”

“No! I don’t!”

McCree’s brow furrows. He thinks for a minute, then continues. “My name is Jesse McCree. I’m 37 years old. We’re friends. You call me Yankee-san most of the time.”

Hanzo’s eyes flicker in faint recognition, but he doesn’t come any closer.

“You’re at the Overwatch base, where you’ve been for the past few months. Every day I bring some breakfast and we go through a picture book. You’ve been relearning English.”

His breathing slows, and McCree stands cautiously. “Can I come in?”

Taking a deep breath, Hanzo nods uncertainly, and McCree slides the door open and steps in. He doesn’t make any moves towards the archer, trying to make him feel more like he’s in control. Hanzo doesn’t move for a few minutes, but he approaches carefully when he’s apparently decided that McCree isn’t a threat.

“Yankee… san?” He seems to muse to himself, and McCree holds back a groan for the nickname. “How did I get here?”

McCree swallows, and very, very carefully choosing his words, he replies. “These, uh, bad guys kidnapped you from us. We don’t know why. We think that they may have done something bad to ya, blocked your memory or somethin’. We’re trying to find out the answer, but the bad guys made it kinda impossible.”

Hanzo nods, and McCree can practically see him wracking his brain for answers. “Is that why I don’t remember… anything?” He looks up to McCree and he nods.

They both don’t know what to say after that, and Hanzo just crawls next to McCree and sits with him against the glass. McCree can feel himself falling asleep, and he just faintly registers Hanzo taking his hand as he slips back into unconsciousness.

 

The next time an episode happens, it’s violent. And it’s only a few days later.

Angela calls him down to the cells frantically, saying that Hanzo is going to destroy the cage and himself if he keeps it up.

When McCree gets down there, He’s faced with those same haunting red eyes, the ones that are so devoid of Hanzo. He steps back slightly as the man snarls at him, throwing his weight at the glass over and over again.

He puts his hands on the glass, looking at the younger straight in the face. “Hanzo.” He says, trying to get his attention. It works, but he knows it’s not Hanzo he’s talking to.

“It’s me. Your Yankee-san. Your fool. Look at me. It’s Jesse.”

Hanzo’s breathing slows a little, but his eyes don’t change or lose that emptiness. McCree swallows, looking into those eyes and trying to see where the archer is, because he isn’t there right now. He presses his hands harder against the glass and stares the man in the eyes, even though right now all he’d like to do is hide from them.

“Your name is Hanzo Shimada. You are 34 years old. You have a brother named Genji. You have a-a partner named Jesse McCree. You call him Yankee-san because you like to annoy him.” McCree falters on the word ‘partner’, because he’s not really sure what they are. Before Hanzo had ‘died’, he would’ve called them at least boyfriend. But now, post-kidnapping, McCree doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to push the man into anything he doesn’t want to do, especially now at this point in the whole brainwashing deal.

So McCree doesn’t say it again, instead rolling with ‘partner’ and moving on. “You like to annoy him and needle him, but at the end of the day, you love him. And he loves you. And I, Jesse McCree, standing right here, right now, loves you, and wants you to come _back_.”

The archer’s breathing has calmed by now, and his eyes are slowly returning to black. McCree sighs in relief, and smiles slightly at the man behind the glass, who looks at him, lost and sad and worried and scared and probably thousands of emotions that McCree is too tired to list off. He lessens the pressure on the glass from his hand, and motions for Hanzo to come closer.

Hanzo approaches carefully, mostly afraid of what he’d done than McCree himself. McCree presses his face to the glass, making his mouth squish like a goldfish in a childish attempt to startle a laugh out of the archer. It works, and the cowboy smiles wide before whispering “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

 

Episodes happen semi-frequently. Sometimes they are severe, with red eyes and violence, other times they are mild, with forgetfulness and distrust.

McCree learns to sleep lightly and at odd hours in the day; lightly so he can wake up immediately when Angela calls him in a panic, and odd hours because nighttime seems to be particularly bad.

Most times, McCree can get Hanzo back in a few minutes. Although, sometimes, he has to talk for an hour to jog his memory. He can feel Angela’s saddened eyes on his back every time it takes him more than five minutes.

He knows that a lot of them are losing patience. Not because they want Hanzo gone, but more because they compare Hanzo to a suffering dog; one that your parents would say that it’s gone through enough and it was time for it to go to sleep now.

McCree could see their point of view. He wished he didn’t. But that wouldn’t stop him from defending Hanzo’s life, even if it meant arguing for days.

 

He talks to Jack again. It’s the first time in six months. Since Hanzo’s retrieval.

This time, Jack speaks first. His voice is on the edge of tipsy, but he’s sober enough to stay relevant.

He talks about old crew members. How they’d snap like this and all Jack could do was watch. How helpless they’d been against their own mind.

McCree butts in, temper hot and ready to fight. He tells Jack that if this was gonna be another “putting it down” argument, he’d walk out of the kitchen right then and there.

To his surprise, Jack glares at him and tells him to sit the fuck down. McCree blinks, but does as he’s told.

“I’m not against you, McCree. I’m with you. We shouldn’t give up hope for Shimada. He’s a tough cookie, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll prevail.”

Then he turns back towards his whiskey and McCree’s too stunned to do anything but sit silently with him.

 

It’s been eight months. Hanzo hasn’t gotten any better, but McCree likes to think that he hasn’t gotten any worse either. He’s learned to operate on three hours of sleep, and his schedule revolves mostly around reteaching Hanzo things that they’d already gone over five times before.

He does it for Hanzo, though. He keeps going. He won’t give up even though there are circles under his eyes and he’s repeating who Fareeha is for the third time that session. Normally, this wouldn’t be a big problem, but he had been trying to make her stick for four days now.

 _It isn’t Hanzo’s fault,_ he reminds himself when he goes back over a picture. _He can’t help what happened to him. Maybe it will stick this time._

One day, in the middle of a session, McCree starts crying.

It’s soft drops at first, single ones that fall on the paper and can be swiped off with a finger. But once the dams break, they start falling in threes and fours and fives. Hanzo visually panics, and McCree tries his hardest to convey that he’s alright, but he can’t stop himself and his arms are around Hanzo and he’s crying against the archer’s shoulder. He can feel him tense up at the initial contact, and McCree can tell he doesn’t know how to respond except to put his hands on McCree’s back and rub circles while quietly murmuring in Japanese.

He holds Hanzo like that for a long time, keeping his head buried into the younger’s shoulder. He’s sure that he’s probably soaked the man’s shirt by now with tears and snot, but he can’t bring himself to care.

When his tears finally start to dry up, McCree straightens and gives Hanzo a watery smile. “I’m sorry, darlin’, I’m jus’ a bit overwhelmed is all. It ain’t yer fault.” 

Hanzo doesn’t quite believe him, but he drops it, and McCree is grateful.

 

Every time someone brings up the suffering dog metaphor, McCree leaves the room.

He refuses to talk to Angela or Winston, as both are driven by logic and find that the most ‘logical’ answer is putting him down as if he were an animal.

It isn’t clear-cut, but McCree can tell where people fall on the spectrum, whether it be more towards yay or nay. He can tell who thinks he’s being unreasonable or selfish. Maybe he is selfish. But he doesn’t care. He wants them to think of Hanzo as an actual human, instead of just an abnormality they can cut off.

When Hanzo has his next episode, McCree has to physically throw himself in between the opposing forces that are both Hanzo and Angela, Winston, and several others. He doesn’t care that he’ll probably die, he won’t let them come near Hanzo.

McCree’s getting beaten up on both sides; Angela’s reluctant to hurt him but he knows that won’t stop her for long. Hanzo’s crazed and afraid, and McCree is doing the best he can to calm him while trying to defend him. He’s whispering small things to him between hits, and it’s all McCree can do to keep it PG-13 before Jack comes out of nowhere and kicks Angela away from him. He hasn’t done enough damage to actually hurt her, but it buys McCree time as she recovers.

Jack, Ana, Genji, and even Fareeha are defending him now, and McCree thinks he could cry. But instead he turns his attention to the archer, focusing on calming him down.

“Look at me, Hanzo. It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay. We’re going to have to run soon, okay? Just follow me and we’ll be alright. Can you do that for me? Can you trust me?”

Hanzo hesitates for a minute but nods uncertainly.

“Go!” Jack shouts gruffly, and as soon as McCree sees an opening he takes it. He slips out of the cell with Hanzo in tow, and races down to the hangers in an effort to put as much space between them and Overwatch as possible. They board the first plane they see, and McCree doesn’t even think before blasting his way out of the hanger and flying away.

 

They landed in Dorado three months ago, and had been running ever since. Mainly, they stayed in Blackwatch safe houses, but it wasn’t always safe enough. McCree knew where most of them were, including the more obscure ones, but it wasn’t like Overwatch couldn’t figure them out. As well as the fact that Blackwatch safe houses had always been booby-trapped to high hell, and even with McCree’s knowledge he still couldn’t get all of them. He’d already injured himself twice, fortunately not too severe, but he couldn’t risk any more delays.

To make matters worse, Hanzo’s mental health was steadily declining. All the jumping around they’d done, never staying in one place, for a reason he couldn’t even remember was taking a toll on the archer. His only anchor is McCree, and the cowboy is barely there sometimes. His attacks, once mild, were now almost always severe. They happen every two days at max, sometimes(usually) more frequently.

McCree had gotten very little sleep ever since their escape. He needed to keep on constant alert, making sure their tracks were covered and that they were hidden well. He had been trained well enough by Hanzo’s episodes to wake up on the drop of a pin, a precaution he’d needed to take since they were no longer separated by glass and Hanzo made very little noise when he moved, even during an episode.

They’d been running for probably far too long, on far too little rest, and McCree had to put all his energy into staying awake. He almost relied on people finding them to keep him that way, it made his body rush with adrenaline and gave him a reason to move. But even now, it was slowly losing its effect.

Hanzo tried to be better, even with his memory mostly gone and relying on the fact that he saw McCree every waking moment to remind himself who the cowboy was. The archer would hold himself together for as long as he could so that could McCree could sleep, but usually that ended up doing more harm than good.

“We’ll make it. We’ll be okay. Someday, I’ll get us a nice house in the prairie with flowers for miles and we won’t have to run anymore.” McCree promises one night, whispering it to Hanzo’s hair as he sleeps in his arms.

 

On the dawn of the fourth month in hiding, they are found.

McCree can’t stand on his own, putting all of his energy into staying awake and most of his weight is on Hanzo as he walks. But he is ready to do what he has to. To protect himself and Hanzo. He would fight every soul on the planet if it meant protecting Hanzo.

He can’t even lift his gun, but he even as he sways, he blocks Angela from taking one more step towards the archer. Even with black bags under his eyes and constantly fighting to keep his eyes open, he blocks Angela’s path.

“Jesse.” McCree snarls as he hears his name come out of her mouth, and sluggishly swings his hand at her. He can feel Hanzo approach worriedly, and the cowboy desperately tries to stop him as he steps in front of him, shielding him from the rest of the team.

Hanzo has no weapons, not even a knife for fear that he would cause harm to either one of them during an attack. But he stands tall against Angela, even while he is defenseless.

“Hanzo. Please let us help him.” Angela whispers, and McCree can see her hand rest on her light gun. There’s no doubt that she’s scared, afraid of what might happen if Hanzo refuses, but McCree knows she will steel herself to do what she thinks is right. Hanzo is struggling to keep himself together, but he knows what he wants and he won’t let this stranger take it from him.

Everything happens at once. Angela takes a step forward, as does Winston, and Hanzo growls and takes a step towards them menacingly, eyes dark and dangerous with a ruthless grimace on his face. The two back away, and Angela whips out her gun, frightened out of her mind for another episode, hands shaky as she desperately looks for another way. The light bullets will kill Hanzo at this range, and as soon as Hanzo sees the gun in Angela’s hands and the barrel looking right at him, he snaps. His eyes redden and he switches to Talon mode, and McCree can’t stop him this time.

The words are almost out of his mouth before a shot rings through the area and McCree closes his eyes. He doesn’t need to look to know who shot and who was the recipient.

McCree catches Hanzo as he falls, stumbling and sinking to his knees as he’s hit with the extra weight. He hugs the body close to his chest, and slowly begins to cry as he feels the warmth go out of the other. Angela’s hand flies to her mouth, and tears track down her cheeks as she warbles out apologies that McCree doesn’t want to hear. He lets them put him on a stretcher, but he won’t let go of Hanzo’s hand. Not until his brain finally overpowers him and he falls unconscious.

 

He wakes up with thunder in his head and grey in his eyes, knowing exactly where he is and how he got there. He feels around for his serape before tugging it over his eyes, shielding himself from whatever little light comes in from the shitty blinds he’d installed years ago.

McCree knows exactly where that pill bottle that remedies headaches is on the shelf, and exactly where a half-empty bottle of alcohol will be under his nightstand. He doesn’t think before he pours out half a dozen little white pills and downs them with whatever liquid’s in the bottle, doesn’t think when he realizes that the label is just a little bit different than usual. He doesn’t even think when he sluggishly remembers something about not mixing meds with alcohol.

But he doesn’t care, either. He rolls over on his bed, keeping the red fabric on his eyes as he drifts back to sleep, realizing what he’s done too late to reverse it and falls into a sleep too deep to be natural.

 

When he wakes up, he isn’t in that dimly lit room that smells like week-old laundry. He’s in a large flower field, filled with every color he can think of. He feels them with his left hand, his honest-to-goodness, flesh and blood left hand, and takes a deep breath in the fresh air, giddy with almost child-like excitement. He stands to see the blooms better, gazing happily over the peaceful scene.

He walks, for a while, focusing his movements towards a softly shaped hill that hosts a large, slender cherry tree, laden with pink blossoms. It takes him a bit to get there, walking at a slow pace and taking in everything around him. Once he reaches the hill, he stops in his tracks when he sees a familiar figure sitting under the soft clouds of cherry blooms.

“Darlin’?”

Hanzo smiles peacefully up at him, and he can feel his heart swell with joy as he recognizes the real Hanzo, the one he’d thought he’d lost so long ago.

“Welcome, Jesse. I have been waiting for you.”

“Aw, well, I haven’t kept ya too long, now have I?” Jesse scratches his head and the Shimada laughs, shaking his head.

“No. Besides, time doesn’t matter much here anyway. I’d wait for an eternity for you, Yankee-san.”

Jesse smiles, and sits down in the grass next to his lover, crossing his legs. He pulls up nearby flowers and weaves them like he did as a boy, fingers almost gracefully fitting them together into two crowns, setting one on Hanzo’s brow and the other on his own.

Hanzo chuckles, taking Jesse’s hand in his own and bringing it to his face. “You are a fool, Jesse McCree,” he mumbles to Jesse’s knuckles.

Jesse laughs, relaxing into the soft winds and sweet smell of flowers. “For you? Forever and always.”

**Author's Note:**

> woo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! isnt that just a rush??? there are several places where it's kind of rushed and im sorry about that but i just couldnt make it any longer. anyway, hope you enjoyed!! there won't be another part to this series, but maybe more mchanzo in the future!! <3


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